


The Orange Thing

by fanforfanatic



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Attempted, Crack, F/M, Fluff, Hand & Finger Kink, Oral Fixation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-14
Updated: 2017-04-14
Packaged: 2018-10-17 18:28:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10599672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fanforfanatic/pseuds/fanforfanatic
Summary: If you’re honest with yourself, you might have gone a tad bit overboard. A smidge, really. But nothing captured your attention, your fascination, quite as much as the Orange Phenomenon.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is for a tumblr challenge by [trexrambling](https://trexrambling.tumblr.com/) and [wheresthekillswitch](https://wheresthekillswitch.tumblr.com/).

You’ve been living in the bunker long enough to have made a plethora of discoveries (actual magical beans, shrink ray (defective), home videos (exactly what it sounds like)). Not one captured your attention, your fascination, quite as much as the Orange Phenomenon.

If you’re honest with yourself, you might have gone a tad bit overboard. A smidge, really. But you couldn’t help your mind from straying from whatever task you had at hand, at any given time, to fantasize about  _ the orange thing _ .

When you first come across it, it’s mostly an accident. Or at the very least a coincidence. Or maybe the Gods orchestrated the whole thing as a gift for all you’ve done for humanity. You don’t know. You don’t care. You’re too busy  _ thinking about it _ .

It happens as you’re sitting at the table adjacent to the kitchen. You’ve got a sour expression on your face when Dean walks in with an empty mug.

“Have I told you recently how beautiful you are?” Dean snickers and your frown deepens. “What’s going on?”

You nod to the plated orange in front of you. “I started to peel it and I already have the stench sticking to my skin like it’s not planning on going anywhere this decade.”

“It’s twenty seventeen. Decade’s almost over at least.” Dean chuckles, because he thinks he’s funny- which he definitely is not-, and places his mug in the sink. “You hate it that bad?”

“Yes. Won’t go away no matter how many times I wash my hands. It distracts me during hunts!”

“Oh well, if it’s a safety hazard,” He intones dramatically with an easy smile on his face as he settles in front of you and drags the plate across the table top towards himself. 

He foregoes the knife you’d started to use and digs into the slit you’d already made, tearing the skin of the fruit right off.

You watch his capable hands work the orange, flexing minutely as they remove the peel. You watch his ridiculously long fingers pluck the white string off and find your mouth watering. He pushes his thumbs between two wedges and splits the fruit open.

Immediately, juice oozes, coating his fingers. A drop runs down his palm and past his wrist. He catches it with his tongue somewhere on his forearm, licking all the way back up to erase the rivulet made by the errant dribble.

You swallow thickly, your eyes trained on the way Dean distractedly licks his lips to taste the traces of nectar and, in the foreground, on the way a large hand cups one half of the orange to free up his nimble fingers so they can remove the core stuck at the center of the other half. Then he’s separating a segment and extending his, still sticky with juice, hand to you in offering.

It takes you a solid moment to understand the gesture. Long enough that Dean frowns and parts his plump lips to ask if everything is alright. He thinks maybe something else was bothering you, other than your unpeeled orange.

You shakily accept the chunk before he really starts to worry, the tips of your fingers brushing against his slick ones. You bring the fruit to your mouth just as Dean brings his tacky fingers to his own and you all but choke on your own saliva. 

He starts with his thumb, wrapping his lips around his first knuckle so that they form a perfect pout. He drags the digit out slowly, humming at the taste, and finally sucking on the pad of it.

“Sweet,” Dean says.

He doesn’t wait for an answer, maybe he isn’t expecting one, he just stick his tongue out and licks up the side of his pinky, flicking his tongue at the tip, then buries his ring finger in his mouth. 

You do choke this time. Quietly. Dean doesn’t notice.

He makes his finger reappear but it’s a slowest magic trick in the history of time and space and you know,  _ you know _ , that his tongue is lapping at it inside his mouth. He tears another wedge off the fruit and you think maybe he’s giving you time to recuperate, to gather your bearings or something sensible like that, but you’re wrong.

Dean wants to torture you.

He pulls half the fruit inside his mouth with a sharp suck and he _has_ to know what he’s doing when he bites into it. Has to know it’s going to burst and drip and… He has to know what it’s _doing_ _to you_. He seemingly doesn’t. Dean just pushes the half he’s bitten off to his cheek so his tongue can comfortably seek the wayward drop above his chin. He chews and looks at you, his brows knitting.

You realise you’ve still got your own slice poised at your lips and shove its entirety into your mouth in your haste to not appear like a goddamn freak. It doesn’t work because Dean chortles at your antics then licks the pillows he calls lips again, leaving them wet and glimmering.

Nothing has ever tasted quite as good as the orange in your mouth does just then. The way it bursts in your mouth is just… It’s good. You want more.

Dean hands you another piece then takes one for himself and on and on it goes. Has Dean always had  _ such  _ an oral fixation? Is this new? Have you never noticed? Does he lowkey want to be a pornstar? Does he look at himself eat oranges in the mirror when busty asian beauties just won’t do the trick? Would it be weird if you took a video?

Oh God.

You have the hots for Dean.

How long have you had the hots for Dean?

No. No.  _ No.  _ You have simply fallen victim to his  _ objectively  _ absurdly attractive looks. And this orange thing. This orange thing is definitely a capital-T Thing.

When Dean wipes his hands,  _ each individual finger obscenely _ and his mouth with the paper towel you had brought to the table, you’re jealous of it. You’re jealous of a paper towel. 

He leaves the kitchen, humming, like nothing’s happened. Like he hasn’t wrecked you. Obliterated you. He leaves you squirming and uncomfortable and absolutely confused.

 

You keep buying oranges. For research. Are you having a slight crisis?  _ Sure.  _ Have you considered packing up and moving to one edge of the country, whichever is furthest from the bunker?  _ Absolutely.  _ Have you noticed how he chases the straws of his fast food soft drinks with his tongue, how he’ll hold it between perfect teeth to smile around it at you, how his lips look plusher than ever pursed around it as he sucks-  _ YES. You’ve noticed.  _ You keep buying oranges anyway. You’re not a damn idiot. You know what you’ve uncovered.

 

Dean keeps peeling them for you, because he’s a pal. He doesn’t mind, really, only time he gets unprocessed food in his system, anyway. At least he  _ didn’t  _ mind. That was a few weeks ago.

Eventually, he minds.

“Just stop buying damn oranges, man. There are other fruit.”  _ Man. _

 

You buy a crate of clementines. He glares at you and you glare at them because they don’t have the same effect.  _ So what is the point? _

 

You let it die. You realise that you’re enabling a bad habit. That if you’re ever going to stop thinking about how Dean’s mouth would feel on you-  _ anywhere  _ on you- you’d have to stop watching him put it to work. If you’re going to stop imagining him peeling your clothes like he does oranges you need to stop watching his tan hands.

Months go by and you just about forget about the whole thing. You almost start to believe that it never really happened. Dean peeling oranges and featuring in hand porn? Doesn’t sound very real to you. 

But then Dean plunks down in front of you at the kitchen table, where it all began, and produces two oranges. 

“S’been a while,” He says.

“Yeah.” Your voice  _ doesn’t _ waver.

The whole circus starts up again. Dean’s elegant fingers. His strong hands. Fruit disappearing into his mouth. Lips. Licking. Tongue. The languid trail of escaping juice. 

You can’t handle it. It’s better than you remember. Better than that dream you had about it two weeks ago. You can’t handle it. You  _ can’t. _

Your hands slam down onto the table before you’ve really given your body approval for the movement. Dean freezes, his hand suspended in the air halfway to you. Your eye twitches involuntarily.

“You okay?”

“Am I okay?” You reiterate calmly. “ _ Am I okay? _ ” Less calmly. “NO. Dean. I’m not-” You make air quotes. “Okay. You know what else isn’t okay? You. You’re sick, you hear me? Pretending like you don’t know what you do to-”

“Woah woah, hey hey hey. You wanna run that by me again? Maybe dial down the crazy and amp up the making-sense.”

“Don’t play dumb.”

“I’m not playing  _ anything.  _ Dude, what’s wrong with you?”  _ Dude. _

“I’ll show you what’s wrong with me.” You threaten.

You reach across the table for the second orange and Dean only flinches a little at your suddenness. You squawk at the thick unyielding skin of the fruit and drop it back to the table. You march to the kitchen area to retrieve a knife that’s probably bigger than necessary. Dean doesn’t mention it. Dean is a smart man.

Back in your seat, you chop away the top and bottom of the orange, grunting all the while, then quarter it with shallow slices. You remove the peels, the whole process taking an absurd amount of time and taking away from the urgency of the point you’re trying to make.

Idly, you’re grateful that Dean is being patient. Idly, you’re also aware of how ludicrously you’re behaving. 

Finally, you tear it into halves and it comes apart easily. You stare down at it, almost offended. It’s the driest orange you’ve ever laid eyes on. Driest citrus fruit you’ve ever laid eyes on. The universe is coming for you. It had gifted you with orange-eating-Dean and you took advantage, disrespected it and now you are shunned.

Your frustration peeks, you look Dean in the eyes and squeeze both halves of the orange in your hands while saying, “ _ This  _ is what’s wrong with  _ you. _ ”

His eyebrows shoot up to his hairline and it’s not like you can blame him, you’ve just crushes a now oozing orange in your hands like the goddamn Hulk.

No one can say you aren’t persistent because you push forward anyway and do what he’s been doing. His own perfectly crafted torture tactic. Only you don’t think you really do it justice. Your lips aren’t as pouty as his, your fingers not as slender as they probably should be, but you put in extra effort to make up for it. Licking and sucking your fingers mockingly, muttering between laps, “I’m Dean, ouh look at me, I’m the sex god of oranges, I have an oral fixation, it’s my ultimate weapon against the forces of evil which is why I’m always honing the skill. I-”

“First,” Dean interrupts you. “Shut up. Second, I have never done any of that. Are you saying I’ve been seducing you with oranges?”

“When you say it like that it sounds stupid.”

Dean’s eyes, you notice, are blown with lust. There’s a tense moment, where all is still. Except for the orange juice trickling down your arm. 

You wonder if Dean will lick it for you.

**Author's Note:**

> Hit me up on [tumblr](https://fanforfanatic.tumblr.com/)!


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